


The Future is Sweet

by Clhover



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Good!Tom Riddle, Happy Ending, M/M, MoD!Harry, One Shot, Sad, Song fic, You know you want to..., evil!dumbles, for now?, mention of MPREG, read it, very major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clhover/pseuds/Clhover
Summary: Tom lets his magic flow. Lady Magic takes the opportunity to warn her chosen. Hopefully, it will be enough.Vague, I know. But I swear it is worth a read. Short and sweet. Hope y'all like it!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle|Voldemort
Kudos: 37





	The Future is Sweet

**A/N: So, I've never done a song fic before. I hope you all like it. Make of it what you will. Use the idea if you like, just give me a tiny shout out if you do, I guess. I am thinking of making a full story out of this, I already have the outline, but that is on the sixth or seventh burner back, so yeah...**

**Oh, and for those that are waiting for me to finish 'Finally Ever After', my main fan fiction at the moment, please be patient. The laptop I was working on decided I didn't deserve it anymore and kicked the bucket. When I transferred the files to a flash drive, things got messed up. Gremlins infested it all, man. I'm sorry and I am working on it. (Screw 2020!)**

**Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter. We all know that it belongs to J. K. Rowling, no matter how many skittles we offer to trade for it.**

**I do not own the song used herein. It belongs to the Aviators and is called 'Golden Roads'. It's really good. Y'all should check it out. They make some great songs to play D &D to.**

* * *

**The Future is Sweet**

By:Clhover

Tom, or Lord Voldemort to his followers, sat in his silenced room, staring at the musical instruments all around him. He had been feeling depressed for some time now. Here he was, 71 years old, and what did he have to show for it?

A life's goal that was no closer to being completed than when he had started all because a senile headmaster wanted to stay in the limelight. All of the changes he could make for the betterment of their world. All the good Tom felt he could do...

But even if he could accomplish his dreams, Tom knew that he would still feel this emptiness inside. This aching to be known, cared for, even- dare he hope- loved. Yet, he had no one. And no one cared about him. Not really. They followed him. They listened to his orders and wanted many of the same things as he did. But none of them, none of his followers cared about Tom Riddle, the orphan boy just wanting something- someone- for himself.

Slowly, his magic did what it normally did when he entered this room that was only his. It reached out began to play a slow, haunting tune that was unfamiliar, and yet a part of the Dark Lord. Then something happened that never had before.

Hesitantly, he began to sing:

_I see the golden years behind us_

_I'm getting scared to move along_

_My inspiration has subsided_

_Without a muse to keep me strong_

_I can't remember our last victory_

_Was it the past, or just a dream?_

_The world we grew to love has crumbled_

_With my own efforts losing steam_

As the words found their way out of what felt like his very soul, Tom saw something that made him nearly stumble over his own words. Magic, pure and clear, started gathering in front of his vision, images starting to form out of the swirls and mist.

There was a man. Not a terribly tall man. In fact, it could be said that he was positively waifish. His hair was an absolute nest of midnight black, seeming to leech all of the light from around him. His skin was pale, worryingly so in comparison. His eyes, set above delicate, high cheekbones, were a startling Avada green. The rest of him, while surely masculine, barely denoted the fact that he was of age.

_I think I need your hands to lift me_

_I think I need your light to shine_

_There lies a trail of fire behind us_

_From a war struck, weary time_

_I'm going to need a guide to show me_

_To walk me through the streets of gold_

_When death will meet us at the end_

_Of our own lost and broken road_

As Tom watches, the man fades from sight, and something wrenches with pain deep within him. He needs that man. Tom needs him. To stand by him. To hold him up and make him strong. To be there when no one else is. To let him love him. To love him in return.

But another comes. This one is old. He is white with a twinkle in his eyes. Dumbledore scowls at where the man once stood, then walks away. Another image swirls into being, and Tom begins to panic. He's standing before a... baby? He's pointing his wand at the child. The image shifts and he sees who it is. The boy is his, with his big green eyes. The child is the man. His man. Why would he kill the one for him? Another shift. Dumbledore stands behind Image/Tom, a wand at his back as he murmurs a spell to make him raise his arm higher as tears run down Image/Tom's face. _Imperio..._

The images flicker past and the boy/man goes through hell. He is miserable. Even more so than Tom Riddle had ever been at his orphanage. So many wrongs done to him before he is even grown enough to understand. The entire time, the old man is in the background, pulling the strings. That same damn twinkle in his eyes.

Then something is shown that soothes a small part of Tom. The man is in his arms. They're both crying. Tom looks different, but the same. Something has happened that he can't seem to grasp. The man, with his Avada green eyes, looks up and cups Image/Tom's face almost... lovingly.

And suddenly, they're singing together:

_I've made mistakes that devastated_

_Too many battles lost to tell_

_If I could turn back time to find you_

_I'd find our confidence as well_

_So please forgive the tears and whispers_

_If you are only in my head_

_Sometimes I want to think you're listening_

_When every other voice is dead_

A deep longing passed between them as chaos reigned around them. Dumbledore was losing control and it was driving him mad. The man stroked Image/Tom's face as he sang alone:

_I think I need your hands to lift me_

_I think I need your light to shine_

_There lies a trail of fire behind us_

_From a war struck, weary time_

_I'm going to need a guide to show me_

_To walk me through the streets of gold_

_When death will meet us at the end_

_Of our own lost and broken road_

A horrible shift this time. The man was torn from Image/Tom's arms. They were screaming in clear agony at the loss. A battle raged all around them. Wizards, witches, creatures, and more, all together on the battlefield. Dumbledore's tall, imposing figure made itself known amongst the combatants. Image/Tom stood tall and firm, his wand in his grip with his pain flashing in his eyes.

Then the man was there again. Standing with Image/Tom against his enemies. They stood back to back, fending off the hordes. Tom's followers flitted in and out of view. The view shifted so quickly, from battle to battle, fight to fight, Tom fought to keep up and mostly failed.

Then the man was alone. He stood strong on the battlefield, Dumbledore before him, panting and furious. The man's melodic voice drifts through the room as tears pour down Tom's face.

_The last survivor of the fall_

_Without a will to live at all_

_The sun is setting as_

_No one remains to hear my weakened call_

_I've come a thousand miles alone_

_Passed every kingdom's empty throne_

_And I can't shake the feeling_

_You'll arrange the stars to lead me home_

The battle was fought. Long and hard. No one was there to witness. No one was there to help Tom's man. He stood against the evil all on his own. They fought, trading blows until, finally, it happened. Dumbledore stumbled, growing tired. The man, as pale as death, took his opportunity to end the fight once and for all.

Dumbledore fell, shock and horror on his face. The man, Tom's man, claimed his wand as his victory and stumbled away. The image faded into another, to show the man leaning over a prone form. It was... Image/Tom. Tom could all but feel the soul deep agony pouring off of his man. Slowly, a thin, pale hand grasped his own in the image and guided to rest on the man's flat stomach. The man leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Image/Tom's cold lips. And cried.

The image darkened, but didn't fade. A... spectre hovered near the pair on the blood soaked battlefield. It's long black cloak floated about it's emaciated form as if a light breeze rustled it gently. The man looked up at the spectre and seemed to beseech him. In a panicked rush, the man pulled out a cloak, a ring with a familiar but odd stone setting, and the wand he had won. He offered it to the spectre. He bowed low, begging for something.

Slowly, the image faded from sight. It was replaced with another, happier one. The man was smiling in the mirror, his Avada green eyes twinkling with sheer joy. He turned as if called. Skipping, as much as his heavily pregnant form would allow, he entered another room and reached for a blurred figure. He reached up and cupped the other's face with love shining bright in his eyes. Reaching up on his toes, he tugged the other man down for a sweet and tender kiss as the figure became clear. Image/Tom beamed down at the man and caressed the other's belly with a gentle, reverent hand as they both began to finish the song together.

_I think I need your hands to lift me_

_I think I need your light to shine_

_There lies a trail of fire behind us_

_From a war struck, weary time_

_I'm going to need a guide to show me_

_To walk me through the streets of gold_

_When death will meet us at the end_

_Of our own lost and broken road_


End file.
